Which is snarling in the west. Beat down, O great winds, westward, Loose reins and gallop to seaward, Rush me, too, to that ocean, In which I have found my goal. Lash me, lap me, rugged waves of blue-black water, Dash me, clutch me and do not let me rest one instant; All through the purple-blue night rock and soothe me, Till I awaken dreamingly at the faint rose breast of the dawn. 

 RED SYMPHONY I Over the ink-black cauldron of the sea, Heavily, on wings of leaden cloud, Howling the sunset Races out to assail me. Long have I voyaged, Night after night the grey rains swept the sea: The heaving breakers Hissed and quivered but held no light. Now my voyage is ending, White storm winds have swept bare my soul; With their harsh laughter, Their maddening mockery, Their bayonet-thrusts of despair. Over the keen, clean-swept zenith Roll crushingly, huge masses of cloud: Dull, ponderous, sagging with the burden Of creaking snow. They drop flat on the sea, They hang menacing over me, They festoon the sun With swags of crimson light. They stripe the horizon, They bar every way with their iron tongues; They loom weltering over my effort, They steadfastly close me in. Meanwhile the sun With dying force Wrenches one little crack In the midst of the sagging masses, And I steer on to it. Like a crimson lake The light overflows and touches the bulging surfaces With carmine, with scarlet, With orange, with vermillion, With brick red, with bluish purple, With maroon, with rose, with russet, With savage green, with snowy blue, With grey, with ebony, with gold. It is the storm of the evening That races out shrieking To assail me, And I hail it. II The sky's vast emptiness Is crowded with fragments colliding, Ragged, splintered masses Swirling away to the night. The volcano of the sun Has burst and split its crater: Black slag is hurled to the zenith Above the red lava-sea. Black shrivelled, charred fragments Fall into the scarlet torrent: Huge tresses of darkness sweep over my face, Leaving me choking. The sea is one crimson steaming fire; Each fanged wavelet Flickers and dances about the one behind it, Hungrily licking at the ship. Fierce whirling swords, Tossed spear-heads lancelike Spit and stab, then suddenly fall Leaving me there On a rolling summit of flame, facing a gulf of despair. The ship Lurches With ice-crusted prow into the wave-trough; And rises, rapidly dripping liquid lire, Long twisted necklaces, that burn out to green frozen chrysolite. III Over my head a bell beats: it is midnight. Perhaps I will live to the dawn. About me are the mouths of yawning furnaces And from these scarlet mouths the heat outpours, And darts and licks its dry tongues at my brain Till it, too, seems a 

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